


La Danse est la Langue de l’Amour

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Baking, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 22:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Victor doesn't have much patience for cooking, but sometimes the payoff is worth it.





	La Danse est la Langue de l’Amour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cukinyuszi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cukinyuszi/gifts).



> Written for the Victuri Gift Exchange 2018. To my recipient: I hope you enjoy this and that it fulfils your request!

“Yuuuuuuuri,” Victor whined, trailing Yuuri into the kitchen. “Why do we have to cook?”

“Because it’s a potluck dinner,” Yuuri said, as he hefted a cookery book onto the kitchen counter. “And that’s what you’re supposed to do. Besides, we’ve got the easy job – salad and dessert.”

“What’s everyone else making?”

Yuuri flipped through the book, looking for the recipe he needed. “Mila’s doing drinks, Georgi’s doing starters, Yakov’s doing main course.”

“What about Lilia?”

“Don’t know.” Yuuri shrugged. He was still searching for the right page. “Don’t think anyone was brave enough to ask her to do anything.”

“Wise decision. She’s not above poison, y’know.” Victor widened his eyes conspiratorially, miming an inelegant choking. Pointedly, Yuuri didn’t respond, though he found himself having to suppress a smile.

“Aha. Here.” He pointed to the page. “That’s it. Chocolate cake with ganache.”

Victor peered at the photo. “Pretty sure Yakov’s going to have a heart attack when he sees that. We’re all supposed to eat healthily during the season.”

“Let’s be honest, Georgi binge-eats every time he thinks about Anya, Mila drinks three cans of Red Bull per day. I doubt a slice of cake is going to be an issue,” he said. “Besides, we’ll just have to train harder tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Victor replied. “I’m with you on that one. Life’s too short.”

“Hm.” Yuuri fell silent, strategising. “How about you start with the salad and I start with the cake? You can help finish it off if you’re done early.”

Victor shrugged, well aware of his culinary limitations. Salad was definitely the safest option. “Sure.”

“Okay, your job is pretty straight-forward,” Yuuri instructed, mentally banishing the images of Victor’s last adventures in the kitchen. There was a reason that Yuuri was the one that usually cooked. Or they ate out. “There’s lettuce and onions and stuff in the fridge. You just need to chop it up and put it in a bowl.”

Victor nodded and pulled the fridge door open. He rifled through the shelves until he had an armful of salad. While Victor set about his tasks, Yuuri weighed out his ingredients. Perhaps strangely, that was his favourite part of the whole process — the precision was immensely satisfying. Not to mention that the neat bowls of flour and sugar and cocoa powder made for surprisingly aesthetic Instagram posts.

A calmness settled over the room. Typically, Victor was a complete chatterbox, but he seemed content to work quietly for once. When he finished his washing and chopping and arranging, he took the job of lining the cake tin, which Yuuri always found frustrating. He also went on a hunt for a spatula, amusedly recalling the way that Yuuri had used a single teaspoon to painstakingly scrape all of the cake mixture into the tin last time. By the time he’d found one, Yuuri had finished his mixing and thanked Victor profusely.

He pulled on a pair of oven gloves and carefully slid the tin into the oven — he’d burnt himself badly once, back when he was in Detroit, and he was still a little jumpy over it. The door shut with a dull thump.

“How long is this going to take?” Yuuri asked, peering into the oven.

Victor turned to the book lying open on the countertop. “Twenty minutes.”

“Okay, that’s plenty of time,” Yuuri replied. “We can clear up while it’s baking.”

“Ugh.” Victor rolled his eyes. “That’s my least favourite part of baking.”

Yuuri batted him with an oven glove. “Stop complaining! It’s not that bad.”

He fluttered his eyelashes. “Well, as long as I’ve got you, I can get through anything.”

“You’re such a sap, Vitya,” Yuuri said. He couldn’t help but smile at his fiancé. “But, seriously — clean!”

Laughing, Victor raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll do it!”

Yuuri would admit that he was astonished when Victor actually complied. Usually, as a by-product of his childlike attention span, he was terrible at cleaning and tidying; but, for once, he dutifully stacked tins and bowls in the sink. Until –

“Boop!” Victor laughed, batting the end of Yuuri’s nose with a spatula. It left a smear of cake batter behind, which made Victor laugh even harder.

“Victor!” he protested.

“What?” Victor pouted, looking like a child that was pretending to be innocent, despite having been caught red-handed. “It suits you.”

“I-” Yuuri swiped at it, succeeding only in making the situation worse. “Agh.”

“Here.” Victor leaned forward and put a hand on Yuuri’s cheek. “Let me help.”

Victor extended his tongue with exaggerated delicacy and licked the tip of Yuuri’s nose.

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Victor!” he repeated, sounding even more scandalised than he had before. His expression alone brought a grin to Victor’s lips.

Victor made to repeat the action, but Yuuri jerked his head backwards. 

They hung in their respective positions until Yuuri’s brain caught up with him and he let out a short, confused giggle. Followed swiftly by a full-bodied laugh.

He reached out and pulled a tea towel off the drying board, wiping his nose clean.

“Well, that’s all the cleaning done,” Victor joked. Endeared, Yuuri rolled his eyes.

Victor swept his fiancé into a tight embrace, pulling him off-balance. Yuuri squawked into Victor’s chest; if his arms hadn’t been pinned to his sides, they would have been windmilling wildly.

“Dance with me, mon chéri.”

“This isn’t dancing, it’s uncoordinated stumbling,” Yuuri protested. “We look like baby giraffes!”

“No,” Victor countered with conviction. “It’s _avant garde_.”

Yuuri shook his head, far too occupied with not falling over to find a witty response.

“Anyway,” Victor continued, loosening his grip on Yuuri and guiding them into a better approximation of a dance. “We’ve got ages until the cake’s ready — we have to do something in the meantime.”

Yuuri twirled under Victor’s arm. When they joined hands again, Yuuri leant forward and planted a light kiss on Victor’s cheek. “You’re insane sometimes, y’know?”

Victor grinned. “I know. That’s why you love me.”

“Maybe,” he replied. “Although, at times-”

Victor pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t finish that sentence, please. I’m not sure my ego could take it.”

They kept rotating and rocking from foot to foot; he could imagine Minako’s horror at their graceless, but Yuuri found himself enjoying the motion. It was relaxing, not having to worry about specific steps or sequences.

Eventually, Victor spun him again, ending with Yuuri’s back flush against his chest and their arms crossing over Yuuri’s waist. Victor moved his mouth next to Yuuri’s ear. “We should do this more often.”

Yuuri was facing away from him, but he could easily visualise the small, content smile on his face. “Baking or dancing?”

“Both,” he murmured back. “But mostly dancing. It’s nice — like skating, except I’m not trying to be good at it.”

Yuuri made a indistinct sound in his throat. “Well, I’m not sure we can really call this dancing, but I agree.”

Victor couldn’t help it. He leant down a little further and kissed Yuuri’s neck, enjoying the little jump of shock that it elicited. Gently, he moved them forwards, until they reached a counter.

Turning, Yuuri perched on top of the kitchen counter, letting it take his body weight and entangling his legs with Victor’s. He wove his hands into Victor’s hair — it was getting longer again, probably time for a trim, not that he’d ever say that to him. He preferred it a little on the long side, if he was honest. Victor, meanwhile, had slid both of his hands under Yuuri’s t-shirt and was running his fingers up and down his sides, over his rib cage and intercostal muscles. His touch was light enough to be ticklish, in a way that hovered between funny, arousing, and painful.

They kissed, lips-to-lips, long and deeply, in a way that could only comfortable when the two people in question knew each other as well as they did. Mentally, Yuuri caught himself feeling astonished. He didn’t think he’d ever truly wrap his head around the fact that he was engaged to his childhood idol. Kissing Victor still seemed like a dream. In a way, he hoped it alway would — he never wanted to take the man for granted.

Victor, as usual, interrupted his train of thought. He broke their kiss. “Ah, Yuuri,” he said a little breathlessly. “Any more of this any I’ll have to ravish you on the kitchen floor.”

Despite the spark that that sent spiralling through his veins, Yuuri replied with amusement, eyes twinkling. “What makes you think you’ll be doing the ravishing?”

“Touché, mon cœur.”

“You know I can’t speak French.” Indeed, Yuuri had spent years chasing down translated versions of all of Victor’s French interviews. He still did, occasionally, not that he’d ever admit it. He religiously wiped his browser history — it was more than a touch embarrassing to be the president of your fiancé’s official fanclub, which Victor still didn’t know about.

The reply was cheeky: “Oui, je sais.”

Yuuri poked him and called him something mildly unflattering in Japanese. Victor, easily guessing his meaning, just grinned and kissed him again. His hand moved to rest on one of Yuuri’s thighs.

At some point, the clock on the far side of the kitchen caught Yuuri’s eye — the minutes, unsurprisingly, had slipped away, and Yuuri was thankful for the reminder. The last thing he needed was to have to explain to everyone that they had no dessert because him and Victor had been too busy making out like teenagers.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered. “As much as I hate to interrupt this, I don’t want the cake to burn.”

Victor sighed, disappointed. “Fine. But this cake had better be worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse the GCSE French, please correct me if I’m wrong.


End file.
